


A half-penny will do

by penny_archer



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Presents, Romantic Fluff, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), The Arrangement (Good Omens), Victorian, victorian christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 04:41:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21690316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penny_archer/pseuds/penny_archer
Summary: It’s Christmas in Victorian England and Crowley is trying not-very-hard to hide the fact that he’s been giving pickpocketing lessons to the disenfranchised youth of London. Oh, and he has a cute gift for Aziraphale that’s totally not a big deal.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 152
Collections: Aziraphale's Library Festive Fic Recs, The Good Omens Library





	A half-penny will do

_Christmas is coming, and the goose is getting fat_

_Please put a penny in the old man’s hat_

_If you haven’t got a penny, a ha’penny will do_

_If you haven’t got a ha’penny, God bless you_

* * *

_London, 1860_

Crowley was lounging against a wall at the edge of a busy square in downtown London. It was late afternoon on Christmas Eve and the city was decked out in garlands, ribbons, and candlelight with a fresh dusting of snow. Crowley grumbled. Normally he loved Christmastime. All that chaos—the hustle and bustle of holiday shopping, households strained with extra guests, awkward forced reunions with family. Leave it to humans to grouse their way through the most joyful time of the year. But at the moment, he couldn’t enjoy it. Aziraphale should have been here almost an hour ago. And while it wasn’t exactly unheard of for the angel to dawdle, Crowley felt a familiar creeping sense of worry. _Everything is fine,_ he thought. _Don’t be a tit._ The demon shook his head to clear it. He wondered what this meetup was about, anyways. Aziraphale’s note had been brief, just a time and place. He supposed that Heaven had some last-minute holiday blessings to bestow that the angel wanted help with. Hell had been pretty quiet lately, so he ran through some possible assignments he could invent to match Aziraphale’s orders. He was mid-brainstorm when he felt a slight shift in the outer pocket of his overcoat.

“Oy!” He yelled at the small child who had appeared at his side. She looked down sheepishly and withdrew her hand. It stayed clasped around a small box tied with a red satin ribbon. “That was terrible form, Clara,” he chided. “And give that here.”

“Sorry, Mister Crowley.” She sighed, disappointed. “Just trying to practice.” Brightening, she grinned impishly and held up the box. “What is it?”

“ ‘S nothing.”

“Is it a gift? Is it for a friend? Is it for a _lady_ friend? Ooooh,” she sing-songed, shaking the box lightly at her ear.

“Ngk. No. It’s not. Said ‘s nothing. Now give it here.” He repeated, gently snatching it back.

He pocketed it again, then crouched down until he was eye level with the young girl. He felt a pang as he looked at her clothes, which were threadbare and not at all warm enough for the season. Steeling himself ( _demons are supposed to foment crime, not run charities—not even for hungry kids)_ , he grinned at her knowingly. “Now, Clara, remember what I said last time: pickpocketing is an _art_ , not just a skill, and it takes some practice. You’ll get it.” She frowned. “You will!” he insisted. “Just keep practicing. Remember, keep your actions light and quick. Before long they won’t even notice, see?” With a languid motion, he flipped the half-penny he’d removed from her pocket while he’d been speaking in the air between them. She scowled and grabbed the coin back. “See, the trick is distraction. If you’ve got a partner you get them to grab everyone’s attention, do a cute little dance or act like they’re selling something or put on a heartbreaking begging routine—I mean really just tug at the heartstrings. Then you sneak in unnoticed. And if you’re alone, choose a mark who’s totally spacey. Some ninny who’s lost in his own thoughts, one who probably won’t think twice if you bump into him and then run along.”

“What, like him?” Crowley looked in the direction the girl was pointing and saw Aziraphale wandering through the square. _Oh Christ._ “I bet he’s got loads of money on him.” He opened his mouth to tell her no, but something about the angel’s blissful expression as he contemplated the decorations in the store windows made him think again. _The absolute ninny_. He grinned devilishly. “Excellent choice, Clara. Let’s call it a practice round. You see what you can do and I’ll keep an eye out. Remember, light and quick.”

“Yes, sir!” she chirped and darted off, quickly disappearing into the crowd. Sure enough, a few moments later he saw Aziraphale stumble slightly and glance around in surprise. The angel didn’t appear to notice anything was amiss, however. Crowley saw him say something— _probably apologizing to whoever’s around him—_ straighten himself up, and continue. The demon grinned.

“Ah there you are, Crowley!” Aziraphale said, his face lighting up. _Not lighting up, just looking with his regular angelic look._ Crowley scowled.

“Took you long enough, didn’t it?” he grumbled, trying to hide how glad he was to see Aziraphale. The angel didn’t seem remotely perturbed by his attitude.

“Yes indeed, I’m very sorry my dear boy. I stopped to buy us some Christmas cake at this lovely bakery down the street and the line was simply dreadful. You must try some, it’s scrumptious.” He reached into his pocket before waiting for Crowley’s reply, his face falling suddenly. “Oh, where is it?” he cried. “Oh dear. I know I put it somewhere,” he said, checking every pocket in his jacket, pants, and overcoat. “Well, I never. It must have fallen out.” He looked crestfallen. Crowley fought valiantly to suppress a smile.

“Bad luck, angel. Well, never mind the cake, what was it you wanted to discuss? New assignment you want to sweet-talk me into doing for you?”

“I never do that,” Aziraphale insisted, betraying his tone with an indulgent smile. “And no, Heaven appears to think the Christmas season is doing enough for our cause. It seems that I have a few days to myself.”

“Funny, my side thinks the same,” Crowley said wryly. 

“Well. That’s not a very festive outlook.” Aziraphale fixed Crowley with a stern glare. Then he beamed and gazed around the square. “Isn’t it all just wonderful though?”

Crowley followed his gaze. “Yeah, ‘spose it is, angel.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Actually, my dear, the reason I wanted to meet was that I was wondering—do you have any plans for the holiday?”

“I— Do I—” Crowley choked. Just then, Clara ran up to them.

“Well I think I did all right, but the rich bugger didn’t have anything on him but some cake. Mind you, it’s not bad.” She stopped short when she saw Aziraphale standing next to Crowley. Her face and front were covered in crumbs and bits of sticky dried fruit.

Crowley balked for a moment, glancing at Aziraphale. _Oh, for Somebody’s sake. He’s going to be insufferable about this._ But seeing the fear in Clara’s eyes, he caved. “It’s okay, Clara, he’s all right. He’s my friend.” The girl relaxed some, but still looked the angel over skeptically. Crowley crouched down to her level again. “Well done, by the way,” he said gently. “That’s better already. Much smoother. Although most people won’t be quite as easy targets,” he added with a pointed glance up at the angel. Clara giggled.

“Am I to understand that you _sent_ this child to _rob_ me?” Aziraphale asked, affronted.

“No! Well, not exactly,” Crowley said defensively. “It was more of a, erm, hands-on lesson, you might say.”

“It’s true, mister," Clara chimed in, "Mister Crowley has been helping us—me, my brothers, my friend Colleen, and a bunch of other kids—he’s been showing us how to swipe stuff better. He’s brilliant! Nicked a pearl necklace right off a rich old lady’s neck last week. He’s teaching us all sorts of skills and tricks and stuff. And we’re getting pretty good. My family’s almost got enough for a proper Christmas dinner now, meat and everything.”

The angel softened. “Well, that does sounds useful,” he agreed. Then with a small, wicked smile he added, “He is _quite_ a lovely, nice man, isn’t he?” and glanced sidelong down at the crouching demon.

“Yeah, he’s not bad,” she agreed, giggling as Crowley flushed. He glowered up at Aziraphale, opening his mouth to protest.

Aziraphale cut him off. “It sounds like you all are very lucky to have him.”

“ ‘Course we are,” she said, looking at Crowley with a smile that melted his sullen expression. Then, quick as a flash, she nabbed the box from his overcoat again before he could stop her, dancing out of reach. She giggled madly over his protests, then her eyes widened. “Wait—is the present for _this_ friend?” He pulled a face and grabbed it out of her hand again, grumbling a non-committal answer.

“On your way now, Clara, it’s starting to get dark,” he said gruffly, then softened. He reached into his pocket. Hesitating, he glanced up at Aziraphale and rolled his eyes almost imperceptibly before looking back to her and holding out a large handful of shillings. “Here—for Christmas. Give some to Colleen, too. And share with your brothers!” Her eyes widened as she took the coins. “Oh, and keep practicing,” he added with a wink.

“Thank you, Mister Crowley!” she cried, startling him and almost knocking him over as she threw her arms around his neck. “Merry Christmas!” She turned to Aziraphale, hugging him too. “And Merry Christmas to you, too, Mister!”

“Merry Christmas, my dear,” he beamed, hugging her back gently. As she ran off, he sent a small miracle after her for a warm house and a full meal for her and her family.

Aziraphale turned to Crowley as he stood back up. “Well,” he said, eyes twinkling.

“ _Don’t._ ”

“I have to say I’m quite impressed—”

“Don’t start, angel,” Crowley said, defensive. “I’m—I’m fomenting mayhem. Contributing to the crime rate. Highly evil. Very demonic,” he insisted. Aziraphale hastily agreed, fighting a smile.

“Ah I see, so this is an assignment,” he said innocently.

“Well—no, not exactly…” Crowley mumbled. “ ‘s more of a side project.”

The angel gazed at him adoringly for a long moment before resuming their conversation. “Now as I was saying, do you have any plans for the holiday?”

Crowley looked at him, raising one eyebrow in a delicate arch. “You were serious?” he asked in mild surprise.

“Of course, dear boy. Why did you think I asked you to meet me?”

Crowley attempted his usual veneer of nonchalance to hide the warmth spreading through his chest. “Sorry, angel. All booked up. Singing in the choir. Got a big solo in _O Holy Night._ ”

“Well, you’re just full of surprises today,” Aziraphale chuckled. Crowley glared at him, albeit without much heat. “Perhaps you would like to join me for Christmas dinner tomorrow? I’ve got quite a spread I’ve ordered and it’s too good not to share it.”

“I could probably shift some things around, yeah,” Crowley assented, a smile quirking up the corner of his mouth.

“Delightful,” Aziraphale beamed.

“Could even manage a drink tonight, if you like, angel.”

“Sounds lovely. I know the perfect little place, they make an incredible mulled wine.”

“Lead on,” said Crowley, gesturing with flourish.

As they walked through the square, Aziraphale asked lightly, “So—am I to understand you’ve brought me a present?”

“Erm,” said Crowley, cheeks reddening slightly. “ ‘S nothing. I mean, yeah. Erm. Here.” He paused, fishing the box out of his pocket again. He shoved it awkwardly into Aziraphale’s outstretched hand. The angel carefully untied the crimson ribbon and opened the lid.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!” He breathed, holding up the brooch. A small copper coin at the center was bordered by a sunburst of gold. “Was this crafted from an actual coin?”

“Yeah,” Crowley mumbled, “A half-penny. From your first sale in the bookshop.” 1

“Oh!” Aziraphale cried, “How—how very thoughtful, my dear. I love it.” His eyes were watering slightly as he met Crowley’s gaze.

 _It’s just this damned freezing wind_ , Crowley thought. “Glad you like it, angel,” he muttered, flushing.

“I do. I love it.” Aziraphale gently attached the brooch to his lapel. They resumed walking. After a moment, suspicion crossed his face. "Dear boy," he asked in a tone that suggested he already knew the answer, "how _exactly_ did you acquire a coin from my first sale?”

“Nicked it, obviously. Haven’t you heard? I’m the expert,” Crowley answered, with a mad, smitten grin.

**Author's Note:**

> (1) Eight years after he opened, and his only sale for another fifty years.
> 
> Find me on tumblr https://penny-archer.tumblr.com/


End file.
